


An Unquiet Ending

by SugahnSpyce



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Cigarettes, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Mental Institutions, Possible AU, Possible Character Death, Unreliable Narrator, switching POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugahnSpyce/pseuds/SugahnSpyce
Summary: Tomorrow you will fight a war. You don't know that yet. First, a man bursts into your room, cuts through your droid attendant, and calls you Obi-Wan.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. An Unquiet Ending

You are in a mental well-being center. There’s a routine to your day, everything is automated, completely safe. You like that. No surprises, nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Your treatment, sir.” The protocol droid holds out a tray with two cups. One with water. One with capsules. 

You place the capsules in your mouth, swallow them down with the water. 

“Very good, sir.” The droid bows as it leaves, door locking into place behind.

Time outside is to be used for meditation. On what or to whom you’re not sure. But you do enjoy the sunshine. It’s warm. The garden is lovely too. Scuttles flit among the dainty flowers, iridescent wings shimmering. A bench in the center seems made for you. You sit and feel the sun, watch the scuttles, inhale the perfume of flowers. This is your favorite time of day. 

Sometimes you see the others. But not often. When you do, they are quiet and content. 

“You have a message, sir.”

Your brows knit together. The droid leads you to a part of the center you’ve never been before. Why would you? You’ve never received a message before. You don’t know anyone outside of these white walls. You barely know anyone in them. The droid presses a button on the machine, stepping back as a blue flickering holo leaps to life. 

“Master! I finally figured it out. I’m sorry it took me so long. Whatever they’re doing to you, you have to fight it! Just hang on. I’m coming for you! Ahsoka and I-”

The blue light shuts off. 

“End of message,” says the droid, hand on the power button.

“Your treatment, sir.” The protocol droid holds out a tray with two cups. 

You place the capsules in your mouth. Remembering what the man in the holo said, you hide them under your tongue and swallow down the water. 

“Very good, sir.”

After it leaves, you spit out the capsules and hide them under your pillow. 

It’s raining. The meditation session in the garden is cancelled. You should probably feel disappointed. Or angry. Or something. Maybe it’s because you didn’t take your capsules. Maybe it’s because of the strange man in the holo. But you don’t feel anything. Empty, like the wash basin after the plug is pulled. 

Tonight, you can’t sleep. Maybe because of the capsules. Maybe because of the man. He didn’t look familiar to you. You never even got his name. The more you think about it, the more you wonder whether there wasn’t some mix up. You’re not even sure the message was actually for you. 

“Your treatment, sir.” The droid and the tray. Capsules and water.   
You swallow. 

“Very good, sir.”

Two more capsules under your pillow. 

The sun and scuttles and flowers. You find it difficult to concentrate. Your thoughts won’t come together. They slide across the surface of your mind, oil slicks on wet pavement. Questions and doubts where before there was only serenity and contentment. You stop one of the droids on the way back to your room. It’s not your usual droid. 

“Do I have any family?”

“Family, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you ask?”

“When was I brought here?”

“Every one of our patients is here for treatment, sir. If you did not need to be here, you would not be here.”

In your room, your usual droid attendant is standing at the head of your bed. In its hand are four capsules. 

“I am disappointed.”

Behind you, there’s the rolling of wheels and a FX-7 stops by your elbow. 

“We are here to help, sir.”

FX-7 pricks your neck with a needle.

There’s a routine to your day, everything is automated, completely safe. You like that. No surprises, nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Your treatment, sir.” The protocol droid holds out a tray with two cups. One with water. One with capsules. 

You place the capsules in your mouth, swallow them down with the water. 

“Very good, sir.” The droid bows as it leaves, door locking into place behind.

Time outside is to be used for meditation. On what or to whom you’re not sure. But you do enjoy the sunshine. It’s warm. The garden is lovely too. Scuttles flit among the dainty flowers, iridescent wings shimmering. A bench in the center seems made for you. You sit and feel the sun, watch the scuttles, inhale the perfume of flowers. This is your favorite time of day. 

Tomorrow you will be fighting a war. You don’t know that yet. First, a man bursts into your room, cuts through your droid attendant, and calls you Obi-Wan. He is fast and powerful and so, so angry. 

His lightsaber slashes through droid after droid, slices through lock after lock. You run after him because you don’t know what else to do. He is insistent and compelling and leaves you no other option. Chaos trails the pair of you: droids dripping slag on the polished floors, the other patients startled from tranquility into fear. No one is taking charge. No one knows how. No one understands why their home is under attack. 

Outside, it is night. A shuttle crushes the garden. The man propels you toward it. This becomes a bit too real for you. You don’t know him. You don’t know what he wants with you. You want your flowers back. You want to take your capsules. You want-  
A flash of white and blue and you pull up short. The man beside you growls. In front of you, another man. He also holds a saber, but low. Defensively. 

“Anakin, what have you done?”

“Who are you?”

“Anakin, it’s me.”

“No. This is a trick. Another one of Dooku’s lies.”

“Stop. Please.”

“I won’t be fooled again. I’ve found Obi-Wan. He’s right here.”

The angry man grabs your arm, pushes you forward. You don’t resist. 

“Search your feelings, Anakin. You know this isn’t right.”

“I...It’s because of whatever they were doing to him. Somehow they were blocking his connection to the Force.”

“This is madness! Can you not sense me?”

“You’re lying!”

With a roar, the angry man launches himself at the other. They perform a deadly dance, blades clashing, throwing sparks into the night. You can only stare. It's over quickly. The angry man punches his saber through the other’s chest. His face collapses in shock and sadness. His body drops. The angry man retrieves his lightsaber.

“Here.”

Numb, you accept the dead man’s weapon. The angry man leads the way into the shuttle. You follow. What else can you do?


	2. Out of Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is you, on a battlefield. This is you, disassembled.

This is you on a battlefield. Disorientation takes you first. Wide open plains dotted with towering flora, colorful stacks of flowers casting intricate shadows on the stony path from the cheerfully blazing sun that warms the field and the droves of droids marching toward the line you’re supposed to be holding. Defensive measures. It’s an easy mission. Doesn’t require much. Just standing firm in the face of blasterfire, proton cannons, and three or four tanks.

Under your gloves, your palms are sweating. Between your palms, you’re clenching a saber that molds to your hands: custom fit. It vibrates. Or, you feel a vibration. Emanating from it? And not exactly. More like a persistent resonance, as if the weapon is tuned to the frequency of your capillaries.

Anakin insists on calling you Obi-Wan. He is still powerful and stubborn. And angry. Always.

Commander Cody acknowledges you by rank only. You’re still getting used to that. The title, not his distant manner.

The air has a tang of agitated nervousness to it. You don’t have to be Trandoshan to know that. It’s barely dawn. The clones reflect the rosy, honeyed sky in their armor. Bumbling your way though, you trip past crates of grenades and shipments of bacta. At the back of the hub of activity that doesn’t even qualify as a camp, you make eye contact with a batch of shines, fresh off the transport. It’s their first time off Kamino. It shows. They look bewildered, lost, and just dumb enough to imagine their bravado is fooling anyone. You look like that too.

You’re alive, after. Somehow you’re alive. Maybe it's luck. Maybe it's instinct. Maybe Anakin is right and you've done this before.

Should you report to the Jedi council? Hop a flight back to Coruscant and let them stick their fingers down your throat and poke around inside your thoracic cavity to see what’s there left missing maybe never was? (What did the capsules wash away?) Anakin doesn’t think so. He says there’s a war to be fought _can’t waste any time on something as trivial as ensuring there’s actually substantial filling inside your human mold_ you couldn’t possibly leave the battlefield now.

He’s acting cagey. Ahsoka assures you this is normal. She tells you this, says Anakin is normally cagey these days. She says this without meeting your eyes. There’s no one to tell you if that is normal too.

So you don’t. Don’t go to Coruscant. Don’t report to the Council. Don’t scrap away your fascia and inspect it on the molecular level. Microscopes and test tubes can’t help you now. You’re you. You are Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“General. We’re approaching the drop zone, General. All troops are ready for action, General. We attack on your command, General.”

Maybe this time you will die.

War is an incredible substitute for self-reflection. You can’t remember who this Obi-Wan is but you think you can be him, judging from the hollow spaces you encounter. This must be the positive outcome to being a malleable blankness. The Negotiator. Master Jedi. General Kenobi. A rotating column of faces for your unending supply of masks.

Tucked into the economically sized space between the floor and the bunk above you, you dream. You dream of a garden full of scuttles and sunshine, with a bench in the middle made just for you. And then you fall asleep.

Anakin keeps you busy. Keeps you out in the field. Keeps you isolated and away and out of reach. From the Council, the other Jedi, sometimes Ahsoka when her curiosity burns like a branding iron. You hold onto threads of tales, whispers you hear from soldiers from pirates from politicians, grasp them in trembling fingers, keep them and learn them and become them. Obi-Wan has a reputation. So these tales. You can use them. Stack them like blocks until they resemble a man. Only to be used until you remember. Until it all comes back. Until whatever they put inside of you washes away and you’re fixed you misshapen lump of sand.

There’s something missing. You’re supposed to be connected to the Force. Or the Force should fill you. Vessel. Messenger. Blood vessels drenched in Light. Guide to the Chosen One. Hope of the Galaxy. And so on.

You don’t feel - doesn’t matter. You will. Or won’t. (Does that matter?)

Anchorless. You’re drifting further. No, just floating. Head above water. That’s equilibrium at its finest. Sufficiency and survival. Those meet the requirements for position in the Grand Army of the Republic. Let sleeping krayt dragons lie.

The shinies lose their bewilderment. They find answers: death. Themselves or their enemies. In war, it is that simple. Nothing in war is simple.

You’re cornered. A demon, red and black, pins you to the wall and sneers with yellow eyes. Something stirs in your solar plexus, an ignition of nerves and membranes. You claw out from under his power and he hates you it’s a palpable shadow of writhing oozing festering weight like a wound infected and an animal gone rabid gnashing terrible constant -

Maybe this time you will actually die.

Ahsoka fills in the holes with bacta. It sits inside of you, drawing out cells and fusing torn skin. She sits with you in the aftermath. Once your cries have diminished to unpleasant memories. The droid gives you capsules. You swallow them with water.

“Why didn’t he kill you?”

You have an answer. One she won’t like. One you’re not sure is correct. One that you don’t know if it’s the right answer. (Does it matter?) After she leaves, you activate the ship’s on board medical droid. Upon request, it dispenses more capsules.

This is you, disassembled. Separate and other. Tortured and mangled before the Sith even got to you. This is the threads unraveling.

Anakin can’t-won’t let you go. Not now not ever.

Maybe this is when you finally die.


	3. Realism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cody dealing with Kenobi's disappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This features a pretty jaded Cody. For a more in character version, skip to the next chapter.

It’s the heat of the battle. Cody’s in the thick of things. At the head of it. Leading the charge. The Republic forces are being overwhelmed. Outnumbered, outgunned, same old same old. When it gets to this point, this grubby desperate haze, he doesn’t care so much for the big picture anymore - the planetwide conflict shrinks to him and the droid in front of him, leveling a blaster at his chest. He’s more intent on staying alive than concerned with pushing the forward objective. But that comes with the territory of being an officer, and a commander at that. Always have to keep that in mind. You can focus on staying alive, but only if you’re also focused on achieving goals. That’s how this works. That’s the only way this works. So he shoots clankers and he dodges blaster fire and he stays alive and he orders/commands/leads his troops further into the fray. Right into the metal teeth of the Separatist meat grinder. 

This is clearly a trap. Doesn’t really make a difference to Cody. The enemy wants him and his brothers dead, trap or otherwise. That’s just a fact. Sure, the odds are stacked against them but they’ve made it out of worse. Hell, even if they lose this battle, lose this planet, it’s not the end of the galaxy. There are other battles, other planets. Isn’t that comforting? Live or die, it doesn’t matter on the individual level. It’s all about the grand scheme of things. Bird’s eye view or some other perspective he doesn’t have. Sounds more fit for politicians in fancy clothes up in their fancy senate building on Coruscant. Let them assign the victory or loss. Down here, Cody’s just trying to make it through the day. 

Clones near the northwest corner of the battlefield start dropping like sandflies, if sandflies were systematically hacked to bits by a bald bizit with dual lightsabers. Keeping an eye on the advancing horde of droids in front of him, Cody alternates shots between them and the Force-trained assassin mowing through his troops. See, focus on staying alive and reaching objectives and fending off an adversary clearly out of his league. Then something rushes past him, beige and tan and a line of blue. Kenobi engages Ventress and Cody goes back to droids. Droids he can handle. 

After another hour or two or less or a time interval of some length or another, the droids fall back. Not pushed back, not retreating, but bizarrely turn around and go back the way they came. They don’t even react to being shot in the back when Cody has his men pursue. Look, in his book, if they aren’t organic, it’s not a crime. The droids get on their ships and they fly away. The men cheer. Cody doesn’t. This wasn’t a win. 

It’s dark by the time he even notices. And honestly, if Skywalker hadn’t contacted him, he probably would have continued on in ignorance. Kenobi isn’t some cadet in the Youth Brigade that needs his hand held for the duration of the battle. If, at some point, he runs off after one of Dooku’s minions, Cody doesn’t worry about it. See, he understands a thing or two about earning your rank. They don’t confer the rank of master on just anyone. And he’s seen Kenobi in action enough to believe the man fully capable of taking care of himself. 

Still, it is odd that he hasn’t returned yet. Or at least attempted communication. That’s when it sort of clicks. The trap, the assassin, the droids leaving. They got what they came for. That galls, just a bit. It happened under Cody’s watch. Yes, the general outranks him but every clone knows it’s their duty to protect their Jedi. And he’s just failed that spectacularly. Kriff. 

Skywalker arrives planetside the next day, late morning. Cody gets no advance warning, just a phantom hand around his neck that lifts him into the air, cuts off his air, and leaves him dangling there for nearly a moment too long. Tano manages to calm her master, or at least get him to let Cody go, which, hey, that’s the most important thing at the moment. On Skywalker’s right, Rex flinches - a false start - like he meant to come forward and help Cody to his feet but aborted the notion before completion. Skywalker paces and raves and Cody stands at attention and takes it. It’s nothing he didn’t already think to himself the night before. When the Jedi finally pauses for breath, Cody informs him of the search parties already out. Skywalker sneers at the idea, tells him it’s too late. Kenobi’s gone. 

Makes Cody wonder why Skywalker bothered to stop by then. He watches the young man go, long strides swallowing up the ground in ravenous paces, Tano in a near sprint as she trails him. It’s only now they’ve gone that Rex comes beside him. Gives his side of the story. Skywalker sensed something. A bad feeling as Kenobi would have called it, Cody thinks idly. Skywalker could tell something bad was going to happen and then he felt something bad happen and then he made bad things happen in his haste to get here. Arrived too late anyway. Now no one has any idea where to start. It’s a wide galaxy and Dooku’s too smart to make it easy. Cody braces himself for the long haul. 

It’s not all that surprising when the Chancellor’s office contacts them. It’s packaged up in fancy politician talk but Cody gets the gist: quit wasting our precious time and valuable resources on one worthless man. He’s getting good at reading between the lines. Not to mention, he can understand the sentiment. Agree, hell no. But see the logic behind it, sure. Troops go missing all the time. Individuals vs big picture, remember? They’ve only allowed it to go on this long because of his status as Jedi. But at this point, even the Jedi are tired of this wild bantha chase. Now this communication, Cody wasn’t supposed to be privy to. But is it really eavesdropping when Skywalker is shouting loud enough for the entire parsec to hear? Apparently the others can’t sense Kenobi anymore, however their telepathy works. Skywalker claims he can still feel something but Cody gets a feeling of his own that tells him Skywalker’s lying through his teeth. 

After days of dead ends and twiddling his thumbs, it’s sort of a relief to be back in combat. Back to fighting for his life every damn minute of the day. The men are a tad skittish without Kenobi but Cody talks ‘em round. He’s in charge now, though there’s already rumors of reassignment swirling, speculations on where Ghost Company will end up, under whom they’ll serve next. Rumors are better saved for mealtime chatter or bedtime whispers, not the battlefield. So Cody tells the men to shut up and man the kark up. It’s time to scrap some seppies. That doesn’t change. 

Easily adapts to new circumstances. That was one of the Kaminoans favorite selling points for their clones. And they must have done a good job because if he took the time to think about it, Cody might find it scary how quickly he and his men have fallen into new routines. Sure, there’s a background knowledge that something is missing, that they’re still down by one, operating in a way no other battalion functions. If he had to wager a guess, he’d say Skywalker has something to do with their limbo. Skywalker refuses to allow another to take Kenobi’s place. Keeps it open for him, like some sort of shrine. No worries, Cody’s got a good bunch of soldiers below him. Jedi or no, they’ll do what they’ve always done. 

Their scheduled rest period rolls around and the cruiser deposits them on Coruscant and damn if the entire company doesn’t move like one body, heading straight for 79’s. Cody goes with them but only as far as the door. It’s a nice night. If cold, smog-choked, and noisy are the definition of nice. On Coruscant, it might be. He’s never spent much time here. He rounds the corner of the building, leans back against the wall. A quick surreptitious glance around and he pulls a cigarette from his belt. Lights it and takes a drag. 

“Not exactly regulation, is it, Commander?” 

Cody exhales, smoke melting into the ambient haze of Coruscant’s lower levels. “Not exactly on duty, am I, Captain?”

Rex accepts when Cody passes him the cigarette. After a few puffs, he hands it back and Cody starts in on it again. They watch traffic, watch a bridge officer stumble by with a Twi’lek on either arm. 

“Do you want the latest?” 

Cody takes the cig from his mouth, taps the ash off before replacing it between his lips. 

“I could tell you, since, you know, you haven’t bothered asking.” Rex’s voice is more impatient now, irritated in a way Cody doesn’t get anymore. “Why is that, by the way? If I were you, and my Jedi went missing, right under my nose, I’d move mountains to get him back.”

“‘Case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a war going on. I can’t just stop fighting. Not even for him.”

Rex’s eyes flash. Or maybe it’s only the reflection of that police speeder going by. “Is that what you believe? Or is that just what you’ve been told?”

The wall behind Cody vibrates with the club’s music. It buzzes along his spine in frantic beats. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes against a looming headache. “Does it matter?”

“To me,” Rex offers simply, sternly. 

Cody drops his cig, crushes it under his boot heel. “What do you want me to say, Rex? That I made the biggest mistake of my career? That I feel responsible for Kenobi’s disappearance?”

“That’s a start.”

“Alright, fine. I kriffed up. I didn’t send him reinforcements, I didn’t even notice he was missing until hours later. But what am I supposed to do now? I’ve got four hundred men in Ghost Company and no general. We get our orders and we ship out and we scrap droids and try not to die in the process. And the whole time the War Department is breathing down my neck for results - more victories, more planets under Republic control. What the kriff am I supposed to do, Rex? Abandon them for a fool’s errand? Some growth-tube dream that Kenobi’s still alive?” 

“We don’t know that he isn’t-”

“Don’t kid yourself. We both know if he is alive it’s only for one reason. Dooku’s going to torture him for information. Either he doesn’t break and he kills him, or he does break and Dooku kills him anyway. All of this ends with Kenobi dead, one way or another.”

“That’s not what General Skywalker thinks.”

“Then Skywalker’s a bigger fool than he looks.”

Maybe it’s the atmosphere. Or maybe Cody did cross a line. But Rex’s fist connects with his face and Cody trips sideways. Rex stands over him, shakes his head, and starts to walk away. 

“General Skywalker thinks he’s found a lead,” he pauses to say over his shoulder, “that’s the update you never asked for.”


	4. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cody, before and after, Obi-Wan's reappearance.

It’s a trap. Cody realizes he should expect that by now. The Separatists have no concept of honor, and they speak deceit better than Basic. Ghost company is severely outnumbered and outgunned. To make matters worse, Ventress joins the battle. She comes in from the northwest, cutting through troopers like a knife through butter. Kenobi rushes to engage her. Cody moves to follow but a wall of droids intercepts him and his platoon. By the time they finish with that, Kenobi is nowhere in sight. More droids flood down the main road, distracting him. It’s not long after that the Separatist forces abruptly fall back. They just turn around, get back in their ships, and fly away. 

The men are relieved, cheering and laughing. Cody can’t join in. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach and it only grows as night falls and Kenobi has yet to reappear. He tries multiple times to com him, and each attempt is met with silence. When General Skywalker contacts him with worrying news, his fears are confirmed. The final pieces click into place. That’s what it was all about - the trap, Ventress, the droids leaving. They got what they came for. 

He spends the rest of the night and all the early morning hours contacting every ship and outpost within the sector, hoping someone has news, perhaps saw the Separatist fleet leaving, knows where they were headed. No luck. No one’s seen anything. No one knows where they are, where they took Kenobi. He’s still at the holotable when Skywalker and Rex arrive.

Skywalker is livid, Tano seems panicked, and Rex looks as grim as Cody’s ever seen him. Cody doesn’t know exactly how it works but somehow the Jedi can sense one another, even when separated by great distances, and Skywalker felt Kenobi was in danger. Still is, if his anger is anything to judge by. He’s ready to tear the entire galaxy apart to recover his former master. Cody shares the sentiment. 

“Here.” Rex holds out a mug.

Cody regards it suspiciously. 

“Thought you could use some caf,” Rex explains. 

He accepts it then, taking a swallow and grimacing. He’s more accustomed to tea. “For a moment, I was worried you were going to tell me to get some rest.”

Rex smiles wryly. “I know better than that by now. Besides, if it was my Jedi, I know how I’d respond. I’d move mountains to get him back.”

The communications officers have never been busier. Messages fly back and forth from one side of the galaxy to the other, getting the word out, putting everyone on alert, gathering tips. They chase down every possible lead, every dead end. It’s frustrating and Cody lives on caf and stubbornness. He can’t eat, can’t sleep. Refuses to until, for better or worse, they find out what happened to Kenobi. 

One day, it just stops. The flurry of activity, the rush, the hope. A communique comes through on his datapad and he stares at it. Just stares and stares. Lights a cigarette, takes a drag, and stares.

Rex comes into his room, sees his defeated posture, the cig. “What’s happened?”

“See for yourself.” Cody slides the pad across his desk. 

After scanning it, Rex’s eyes widen. “He’s calling off the search? He can’t do that!” 

Cody shrugs. “He's the chancellor. He can do whatever the heck he pleases.”

Rex drops down to sit on the edge of his bunk. Cody passes him the cig. 

“Should you really have that in here?” 

“I'm the commander. I can do whatever the heck I please.”

Rex accepts the cig. Takes a few puffs and hands it back. “Skywalker’s not going to quit.”

“Must be nice to have that option,” Cody grunts. 

“You’re giving up?”

“I have my orders. Apparently war doesn’t stop.”

It’s not like Cody hasn’t led his men without General Kenobi before. They’re all experienced troopers, not cadets in the Youth Brigade, for Force’s sake. Sometimes Kenobi was assigned to separate missions. But this time is different. There’s an underlying current of uneasiness thrumming though the air. It’s setting the men on edge. Cody can’t fault them for that. He feels the same. His worry is distracting and he does his best to shove it down. Distractions are what get you killed. 

There’s talk of reassigning Ghost Company. Rumors of disbanding and redistributing the men. Or to make things easier, a new general will be appointed. One of those career types, straight from the Core. Given how stretched the Jedi are, that is the most likely scenario. Yet somehow, nothing comes of the speculations. Cody later learns from Rex that Skywalker has more than a little to do with that. 

Rex keeps Cody informed of the ongoing search, unofficial and clandestine as it is. Skywalker is an expert at hiding his true intentions from those in authority. Cody doesn’t know how he manages to fulfill his duties and still find time to sneak off to explore every dark crevice in all the corners of the galaxy, based off whispers from sources he won’t disclose. 

Then Rex goes off the grid. Radio silent. The next time Cody sees him, he’s haggard and haunted, stumbling off Skywalker’s ship and onto the landing platform. Cody takes his arm over his shoulder and hightails it to 79’s. Not his usual spot but the 501st is no stranger to the bar and Rex looks like he could use a drink. Or two. Three. Four. 

Once the alcohol loosens his tongue enough, he tells a tale, in scattered fragments, of changelings and lies, false hope and death. Cody doesn’t pry beyond that. 

Duty calls and Cody’s back in the field. Without Kenobi’s skills as negotiator, a number of planets are reneging original treaties, falling away from promised trade agreements, ect. It’s strange to see the worth of a man in the hollow spaces he leaves behind. Maybe Cody is biased, but he thinks Dooku picked the perfect target as far as weakening the Republic goes. Kenobi is a prominent figure in the war, both politically and militarily. 

Skywalker contacts him directly. He found him. 

Ghost Company has never been more motivated to finish a battle. They defeat their enemy in record time and Cody entrusts the clean up to his officers. He’s hopping a shuttle to Skywalker’s location. Spends the entire ride battling nerves. The anticipation overlaps old guilt, blending into a nauseating mixture of relief and fear. Then the shuttle lands and the ramp’s opening and he’s walking down and there’s Kenobi. 

To his last breath, Cody will deny that he ran. But he run he does, over to Kenobi only to stop short. There’s something...different about him. He certainly looks like Kenobi, if thinner and strangely lost. But he’s not - Cody can’t put his finger on it, doesn’t know how to put it into words - he’s not Kenobi. Like those clones who fell victim to the mind controlling worm of the Genosian queen, there’s something missing from his eyes. A blankness where there should be light. 

Cody manages a stiff salute and inclines his head when the other man finally notices him. There’s no recognition in his gaze, his talk alternates between polite and bewildered. Cody doesn’t stay long. It’s too disconcerting. He makes his excuses and leaves. Though he’s loathe to admit it, he supposes he pictured the reunion going differently. More happiness, less confusion. 

Despite Cody’s quiet protests, Skywalker dispatches them to the field. Something easy and routine, he promises. Just hold back the invading forces. In the glow of the holo of the planet they’re gathered around, Kenobi seems more ghost than human. But Cody has to give him credit for not backing down. He wanders around the camp, jittery, trying not to show it and failing. When it comes time to fight, he takes his place by Cody. Close enough for Cody to see the tremble in his hands, the sweat on his forehead. 

They make it through. By some miracle, Kenobi makes it through alive. Cody had his doubts. Still does, but about other things. It’s probably baseless. After all, Kenobi’s been through an ordeal. And things like that, well they change a man. But something in Cody’s gut just won’t uncurl. It’s hard to look into those missing-light eyes. It’s hard to watch the unflappable leader shake in fear. It’s hard and it’s a war between guilt and doubt (which feels like treason) and in the end, he falls back on his training. Focuses on the war. Keeps the general at a distance. 

It helps that they’re so busy. Mission after mission after mission. War is an incredible substitute for self-reflection. Cody doesn’t have to examine his thoughts too closely. Doesn’t need to inspect them. Just distracts himself with battle. Battle he can do. 

“Glad to have him back?” Rex nudges his shoulder. 

Cody grunts, noncommittal. 

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Cody.”

“Do you ever get the feeling something’s not right with General Kenobi?”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. Forget I brought it up.” 

The general is trying. Maybe too hard. He comes across as a bizarre puppet, a poor substitute of his former self. He shapes himself into what people want from him, what they expect. An ever changing, fluid approximation of his reputation. He’s conversing with Ohnaka, the 212th having stopped on Florrum to resupply, and he laughs at something the pirate says. Watching from across the landing strip, unlit cig waiting in his fingers, Cody wonders if, maybe, it wouldn’t have been better if Kenobi had stayed missing. 

He should be more careful what he wishes for. It’s not long before Kenobi goes missing again. This time, there is no extended chase, wondering where he is, what’s happened. This time a demon sends a message to Skywalker. He rants and raves about revenge, about the coming fall of the Republic. Cody doesn’t hear any of it. His entire attention is captured by the flickering image of Kenobi’s battered body in the background. This time, Cody’s going to be there to get his general back. 

Kenobi’s in a bad way. There’s blood and bruises and breaks. Skywalker wants to pursue Maul. Tano is the only one who can talk him out of it. If Kenobi doesn’t receive immediate medical attention, he will die. Cody and Rex carry Kenobi’s unconscious body back to the ship. Skywalker’s jaw is clenched as he pilots. Tano chased them out of the little medical room. That leaves Cody and Rex in the cargo space, silent and grim. 

The aftermath is horrible in ways no one could predict. Kenobi is coming apart. Unraveling. Tumbling into a thousand pieces and Cody scrambles to catch them all. But he’s decided, determined. He failed his Jedi the first time. He won’t do so again. He’s going to stay by his side. Through the nightmares, the vomiting, the times when Kenobi seems to turn inward and doesn’t come back until there are tear stains on his cheeks. 

Cody stays. 

“Have you slept at all?” Rex asks.

Cody exhales smoke. Flicks the end of his cig over the balcony edge. “Some.”

“You’re lying.” 

Bracing his forearms on the railing, Cody lays his forehead against them. “Truth is, brother, I’m always tired.”

It takes a while. A lot of time, an extended stay in the Jedi Halls of Healing, a few doses of the strongest medication available, and Kenobi’s back to fighting fit. He’s changed. Again. He’s different. Not back to how he used to be but different than he was and Cody can still see the blankness but this time, Kenobi’s more settled, resigned, muting the void instead of seeking to fill it. It’s a subtle change but it reassures Cody, gives him hope that maybe things will be okay. 

They’re on the bridge, standing at the viewport, waiting to make the jump to hyperspace. Kenobi has scars now, some on his face to match Cody’s. He turns to the commander and Cody doesn’t flinch. 

“On your command, General Kenobi.”


End file.
